


Love Will Keep Us Together

by ChElFi



Series: Eighteen Anniversary Drabbles [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anniversary, Blood, Eighteen Drabbles, F/M, Fourth Anniversary, My Usual Fare, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChElFi/pseuds/ChElFi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has suffered through many things in his life, but none of that seems to compare with what happened last year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Will Keep Us Together

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the fourth anniversary story. If you are looking for the third anniversary, which wasn't much better than this one, that's over in Keep Holding On.
> 
> Soooooo, this is NOT a HAPPY anniversary story. A reminder of the timeline: The previous July, a week after Steve's birthday, Maria went into pre-term labor and both she and their daughter, Hope, nearly died. If you want to read part of that fun story it is entitled, The Smallest Coffins Are the Heaviest. During this period, Steve is suffering from PTSD, which, as I mentioned in Never Thought I'd See You Smile Again, is rather common in NICU parents.
> 
> This story is also referenced in If We Hold on Together, that story is about their eighth anniversary and is far happier than this. :) Also referenced in this story are the first part of the last chapter of Suffering Is a Guarantee, Happiness Is a Phase, as well as Hopes and Dreams.
> 
> Sheesh, I'm gonna have to write this all down. Not long from now I'll be getting confused. :)
> 
> The word prompt for this story is "perfume." Title is the Captain and Tennille song. And, no, I didn't notice that until after I picked the song. I'm really slow.
> 
> Again, thank you all for the likes, reviews, and follows. I hope you enjoy this, or, actually, that's ridiculous. Just make sure you have a box of tissues handy.

 

The stationery was not Maria, at all. It was pink and had tiny red chrysanthemums* on each corner of the page. But the handwriting was her; sharp sloping characters, strong lettering that always reminded Steve of her strength and resilience. And the perfume, that was definitely her, but not on a letter, and certainly not on stationery of this type. It was old-fashioned in a way Maria simply was not.

He held the page in his hand as he sat on the edge of their bed. She'd given him the letter only minutes earlier, a slight hopeful look in her eyes, a tight smile she probably thought hid the strain of the past eight months. He'd taken it from her and opened it and looked at the page without reading. Then he'd turned and left the room without a word.

Steve knew he'd disappointed her again. He had no need to see her face to envision the look in his mind even now. He clenched his jaw as he fought the urge to return to her, take her in his arms, and apologize. He couldn't. The last time he'd touched her had been that night. He could still hear her screams of pain and see the blood.

He dropped the letter onto the bed as he stood abruptly and began to pace the room. His breaths came in short gasps as he tried to gain control of his thoughts, of the images that flashed through his mind. The blood: on her nightshirt, on her hands, her face, pooling on the ground under her, streaks of bloody hand prints on the walls. Steve clenched his fists and prayed to regain control before he broke something or, worse, hurt someone.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was only minutes, Steve stepped over to his side table. He opened the drawer and dug through the mess there, pulling things out and throwing them on the floor beside him in his desperate search.

Finally, in a fistful of papers he'd grabbed, he felt it. He dropped the papers and took the rosary beads in his hands. Maria had given it to him as a wedding present; her way, she said, of reminding him that because his faith was important to him, it was important to her. He'd always carried it with him, it made him think of her as much as it did of the prayers. But he'd dropped it in the drawer months ago. He wasn't worthy of such a gift. Or even to have his prayers heard.

He stared intently at the beads as he ran them through his fingers, the prayers quietly rolling off his tongue in rote. In the end he crossed himself and held the crucifix to his lips, closing his eyes As he recalled that time all those years ago when he learned there was one person who saw his need and met it. How could he not love her?

He reached over to the bed where the letter lay and picked it up to read.

_Dear Steve,_

_I know this year has been such a difficult one. It has possibly been the worst year of both our lives. But today, on our fourth anniversary, I wanted to remind you how much I love you. I know we will get through this time as we have all our other trials. I will not give up on us._

_You have spent years showing me what love is. I never thought I would ever have this, a husband who loves me, a child. These were never things I thought I deserved. But you showed me I was worth loving and I will hold onto that knowledge forever._

_I love you._

_Maria_

Steve sat on the floor, leaning back on the side of the bed, holding the perfumed letter in one hand and the rosary in the other, for hours. The shadows in the room had shifted greatly when he finally snapped out of his daze.

He fished into his pocket and pulled out his phone; then dialed speed dial #2 and listened to the phone ring. It picked up after three.

"Steve."

Tony's voice was not its usual gregarious tone. Steve knew the man must wonder if he'd ever hear from him again after the fight they'd had months earlier. Steve hadn't been ready then for what Tony tried to tell him. He was now.

"Tony." He stopped to clear his throat as his voice cracked. "I would like the name of that doctor. The, um, the psychiatrist."

*a declaration of love


End file.
